Back Alleys and Bees
by I-Married-My-Fandoms
Summary: Was prompted "Rose/Doctor &/or johnlock smut" because she had previously prompted me Richenfeels. Smut in the first part, fluff in the second part.


**This goes along with the other prompt I just posted entitled "Richenfeels" I was prompted this from my friend after she had already prompted me one. She showed me a depressing video so I wrote her a depressing fic… then she wanted something to make the pain and sadness go away. "Rose/Doctor &/or johnlock smut because F*** THAT WAS TERRIBLE AN DOW MY HEART AND I AMS O F****** SORRY OMG I FORGOT HOW MUCH HEARTBREAK THAT VIDEO WAS DAMMIT" So this is what happened…**

"HNNNG!" Sherlock threw back his head and bit his lip as John pounded into him roughly. They were in a secluded part of town, there really was no one around and they had found a very convent alley to rush down and some bins to hide behind. They had been out on a case and, after Sherlock had solved it [rather effortlessly] they had gone out for food. This had turned into each eating their supper in the most seductive way possible for the other just to turn themselves on so much they couldn't even make it back to the flat.

"Ha… harder!" Sherlock gritted out. He was bend over, palms splayed against the concrete wall, leaving scratches and cuts, but he was moaning wantonly, his back arching as he thrust his hips towards John more.

John dug his fingers into Sherlock's hips harder, thrusting erratically and leaning over his taller lover, bringing his teeth down to scrape along the bare throat before him. He was trying to keep as quiet as possible, not wanting, god forbid, a bobby walk around the corner and find them in their half state of dress, rutting like animals.

One of John's hands slipped down from Sherlock's hip, reaching around to grab his swollen member and stroke it in time with his thrusts. They were both close and John bit down harder on Sherlock's throat and shoulder.

The brunette moaned lowly, biting his lip and drawing blood so not to let the audio of their activities increase any more than they had. The constant pressure of John on his prostate, the hand deftly jerking him off, and the teeth, pressing, almost tearing at his flesh, had Sherlock spilling over the edge, clamping his walls and calling out John's name in a desperate whisper. John's release was followed soon after.

—-

*40 years later*

They had move out of London some ten years ago to the open fields of Sussex where Sherlock kept his bee farm. John hadn't minded in the least. It was quiet out in the country. As soon as Sherlock had retired from the detective work [still ocasionally getting a request for special help from someone like, oh, he wouldn't say TheQueen] they had moved. The cottage they now lived in was beautiful, with enough room for Sherlock's bees and it was far enough out of town so they had their space, but not so far that they couldn't go in for a nice dinner, or John could stop in the town and make rounds. He quite liked doing that, going around to his patients [he was in his 70's and they still wanted his expertise as a physician] much like the olden times.

Sherlock was standing at the front door of the cottage, hair now streaked with grey and wrinkles wrapped around his smile. John looked up at him from the path. He had just gone down into down to get some shopping done and saw his husband standing there waiting for him.

"What's that look for?" John asked, an eyebrow raised. He had a brown paper bag in one arm, using his old cane on his right side. After all that trouble of getting rid of his psychosomatic limp, he now had to use a cane.

"Today," Sherlock's voice rang out, just as beautifully as it had been all those years ago when the two met. "Is the day that we first met each other… and I got you this." Sherlock held out a small package, wrapped in brown paper. John smiled up at him and walked up to his husband slowly. He kissed Sherlock on the cheek, having to strain on his toes a bit, before moving past him into their home. He put the shopping down on the table and then turned around, knowing the genius would have followed him.

John was correct in his knowledge and Sherlock stood in the doorway, still holding the package. John took another moment to let his eyes roam over his husband. The man was still gorgeous. He had more grey and didn't stand as straight, more wrinkles, but he was still the beautiful Sherlock that John had met almost 50 years previous. He crossed their kitchen and took the package, opening it and blinking down at the book in confusion.

"Thank you sweetheart… but what is it?" John looked up at Sherlock with a raised brow. Sherlock just chuckled.

"Open it." and John proceeded to do just that. The gasp that escaped his mouth shocked him so that he nearly dropped the book. It was photographs of them, the two of them, their friends, their family, through the years. John didn't know how Sherlock had gotten these photographs but he could feel his eyes tearing up as he flipped through the book, moving from year to year of familiar faces.

John's favourite page was the one with their wedding photo's on it. Both men looked handsome in their black and white tuxes, looking longingly and lovingly into each other's eyes. John turned back to Sherlock and grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him down for a kiss.

"I love you." John whispered the words against Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock's only reply was a smile.


End file.
